


Roy's Night In

by nochick_fics



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/pseuds/nochick_fics
Summary: Roy decides to stay in, get drunk, and do some... thinking.





	Roy's Night In

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty wankfic written in 2011 for FMA SlashFest.

What was the world coming to when the (self-proclaimed) sexiest man in Amestris willingly chose to spend a Friday night in the comfort of his own home all by his lonesome? Roy wasn’t sure. All he _did_ know was that hearts were surely breaking tonight as a result of his desire to be alone. Hubris? Yes, but true all the same.  
  
He sighed and settled back into the couch, which would probably double as his bed tonight since his actual bed seemed miles away in his present state. He then held the bottle of whiskey up to the light, noting with a hint of disappointment that it was almost empty. The cupboard where he kept his stock wasn’t exactly an arm’s length away either, a tragedy when even the mere act of standing up seemed an arduous task, let alone forcing his feet to move him across the room.   
  
Roy took a generous swig of drink, cringing as fire coursed down his throat and into his stomach, filling it with heat. There was heat elsewhere too, by the way, a little farther down; like the hangover that was certain to greet him come dawn, it was one of the usual ramifications of these solo benders. And while it would seem a pity that there was no one around to _assist_ him in times like these, Roy was a firm believer in taking matters into his own hand when necessary.   
  
And so, naturally, he did.   
  
With one hand wrapped firmly around the neck of the bottle, he parted his legs and wrapped the other around himself, and even through the obtrusive layer of clothing, a slight shiver surged through him at the initial contact. He let his thumb trail lazily along the outline of his cock, slowly coaxing it to life, until there was precious little room for comfort left in his pants, as well as a rather impressive tent beneath his palm. He unbuttoned and unzipped himself with the skilled fingers of a pro, reached into his underwear, and grabbed onto his cock with an appreciative sigh. Since the lube was also far, far away, tucked safely inside of his nightstand, a dry hand would have to do... not that it would be dry for very long.  
  
He took another drink and went to work, closing his eyes and focusing on the smooth warmth of his swollen shaft. And, as always was the case when he was boozed up and beating off, his mind began to wander, scanning the countless faces of conquests past, the many, _many_ women who had known the pleasure of his company. Yet the hand he now envisioned fondling him wasn’t quite as delicate as theirs. It was larger, rougher, and conveniently missing the gold band that usually adorned its ring finger. This, too, was nothing new; Maes was never married in Roy’s drunken delusions.   
  
Moaning softly, Roy began moving faster, aided by the mental imagery of sharp green eyes watching as a strong, steady hand stroked him. He could almost smell the cologne, feel the stubble of beard as it nuzzled his cheek, and hear the husky whispering of delightfully deviant intent, with promises of sucking and fucking and everything in between. And while a part of him, deep down where rational thought still lingered, recoiled at what he was doing, Roy was not about to stop; he doubted that he could, even if he wanted. There was a strange yet comforting sort of freedom in the loss of sobriety, one in which he could think about things best left unthought, one in which he could readily admit to himself that he wanted his best friend in a way he would never fully realize outside of his imagination. Not that he habitually wanted the company of men in such a way. Just Maes. Only Maes.  
  
 _Always_ Maes.   
  
“Maes-!”  
  
Roy grunted sharply as he was overrun by his orgasm, the bottle dropping to the floor, forgotten, his body trembling from his climax. It was so intense that it felt as if it would go on forever. Eventually, he leaned forward, slumping over his knees and gasping for air while waiting for the tremors to pass. He was a wet and sticky mess, and he had once again managed to come harder while thinking about Maes than he ever had with a woman, but none of that mattered at the moment. He would worry about all of that once he could actually _move_ again.  
  
Finally, minutes later, Roy pulled himself upright and opened his eyes, squinting in the light of the room. Reality set in with a strong and sudden vengeance, reminding him that he was drunk and alone while Maes was home with his wife and child. But it was just as well. Things were... the way they were, inebriated fantasies notwithstanding.  
  
He peeled off his shirt and hastily cleaned himself, then rose on wobbly legs and stumbled into the bathroom to change. When he was finished, he contemplated crawling into bed and sleeping the rest of the night away. It was certainly the rational thing to do. But instead, he grabbed another bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and plopped down onto the couch.  
  
After all, the night was still young.


End file.
